


Clockwork

by Wertiyurae



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, What are Tags?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-31
Updated: 2006-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wertiyurae/pseuds/Wertiyurae
Summary: A short look into Cogsworth's mind just before Belle's father enters the castle.





	Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published on ff.net under my Holli account there on March 31, 2006. I will be changing the publish date here to reflect that a week after posting. Original author's notes below. 
> 
> (Author's note: Here is a story that I had floating around my head for quite a while before I actually decided to write it out. Then it had to wait a long time until I had a chance to finish it. Now, its wait is over and the story is finished. I've never read any stories in this section so any similarities to anyone else's work is coincidental.
> 
> It's a Beauty and the Beast story set just before Belle's father enters the Beast's castle. More of a character sketch than anything. )

The most frightening moment of Cogsworth's life, even more frightening than when he was turned into a clock, was the day that he had forgotten what he used to look like. He had looked away from himself and had spotted Lumiere. He had tried to picture his long time friend's face but hadn't been able to see anything but the candlestick.

Of course, as terrifying as that moment had been, there was something more worrying going on: he was slowly but surely forgetting what being human was like. The sensation of hot, cold, soft, sharp were nothing but dim memory. He could still feel pain, but it wasn't the same as feeling it on the flesh. Sleeping was something that he pretended to do, but not something he really needed. And mostly, he didn't even bother to pretend anymore. There was no point to it. Not really.

Cogsworth was beginning to feel more and more like there was no point in anything. He had held little hope to begin with that they'd ever be human again - but he'd still had enough hope to dream about it back when he'd been able to dream. But, as the years passed and the castle crumbled around them, his hopes had crumbled too.

The Prince had to find true love and be loved in return. Cogsworth couldn't imagine any woman truly loving the Prince when he'd been human - now that he was a monster (in more than ways than just appearance on most days) . . . It wasn't possible. Who could love a beast?

And, as if that wasn't disheartening enough, there was the time limit. The rose that had bloomed for ten long years had just begun to show signs of wilt. The rose that would, in time, lose all of its petals and seal their fates. The rose . . . He'd seen it only once or twice and, if he hadn't known its true power, he would have thought it the most beautiful flower in the world.

But, knowing what he knew, when he saw it, he was not transfixed by its beauty. All he saw was his doom and the doom of all his friends and of everyone in the castle. Very soon, no more than maybe a single year more, they would all be trapped in these forms. How long would it be until they were nothing more than what they appeared? How long before they all forgot ever being human?

Well, Cogsworth had already decided one thing: the day that the rose lost its very last petal, that would be the day that he made the long trip to a town and threw himself under the first cart wheel he came across. Cowardly - undoubtably. Desperate - unquestionably. Still, better to be a dead coward than a clock that played at life but couldn't remember what living was.

At least, those were his thoughts on the subject. Thoughts that he had never voiced aloud for fear that Lumiere or Mrs. Potts would hear him. Mrs. Potts would be devastated if she knew that he was thinking of . . . ending his existence. She was a very devout woman (although, how she had remained so over all these years, he had no idea) and he knew that she would be less than approving of his plans.

Lumiere though, while he would probably understand his reasons, would try to stop him. And, while Cogsworth would never, never admit this to anyone, Lumiere was the one person who could convince him to do anything. And, as horrible as the thought of being a clock for eternity was, Lumiere would no doubt find a way to make him stick it out.

If he was a braver . . . individual, Cogsworth might have told him for that very reason. However, he wasn't and he didn't want anyone to try and change his mind now that it was made up.

"Is there something wrong? You look troubled."

Even as a clock, Lumiere found him easy to read! He shook his head. "No, just thinking."

Lumiere smiled a waxy smile. "Don't think too hard, mon ami; you might break something in there."

Friend or not, Lumiere was easily the most frustrating being that Cogsworth had ever met. "At least I try, which is more than I can say for you." He folded his brass fittings over his frame. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought that you had a 'date.'"

As a human, Lumiere had been quite the . . . lover and, as a candlestick (for a reason that Cogsworth found as hard to understand as Mrs. Pott's continued faith), he had remained so. Cogsworth couldn't imagine what a candlestick and a feather duster could do together that would be worth the effort and, being a gentleman (even if he was a clock), he didn't spend too much time thinking on it. He was fairly certain that the answer would probably sicken him.

Lumiere frowned a bit. "She said that she had a headache." Then he shrugged and smiled again. "I will just have to try harder!"

Cogsworth shook his head. His friend was never one to stay depressed for long. Even when they'd first changed, it hadn't taken him that long to adapt to the differences. It was one of the things that annoyed Cogsworth about him: it hardly seemed fair that Lumiere could bounce back from any difficulty with so little effort.

He'd been about to say something appropriately scathing when he heard pounding. It sounded almost as though . . . someone was knocking on the door. But that wasn't possible. No one came to the castle anymore.

As if to contradict him, the door opened with a loud squeak - oiling the doors had not been much of a priority since the Prince was the only one to use it and he didn't care too much about the condition of the doors - and a shadowy figure entered the castle, hesitant and afraid.

"Hello?" It was an older man, his gray hair soaked with rain and his simple clock torn in many places. "Hello?"

"Old fellow must have lost his way in the woods," Lumiere whispered softly, as if Cogsworth couldn't see that fact for himself.

"Keep quiet," he muttered as quietly as he could. "Maybe he'll go away." Part of him was ecstatic to have someone in the castle again but most of him was terrified of what the Prince would say. Or do.

"Is someone there?" He sounded afraid. It was for the best: the sooner he left, the better off he'd be.

Unfortunately, Cogsworth knew his friend well enough to know that he wouldn't agree - when he'd been human, he'd had a nasty habit of taking in strays. "Not a word, Lumiere. Not a word!"

The old man looked around him, probably sensing that he wasn't quite alone. "I don't mean to intrude," he began, speaking in a slightly raised voice, "but I've lost my horse and I need a place to stay for the night."

Oh no. Cogsworth looked over at Lumiere who was already giving him pleading eyes. This wasn't going to be good at all! It wasn't that he didn't feel any sympathy for the man, but it was just too dangerous - why didn't Lumiere understand that?

"Oh, Cogsworth, have a heart!"

What was the fool doing, speaking so loudly! "Shush, shush, shhh!" Cogsworth quickly covered Lumiere's mouth, knowing that it was probably futile now. What had the fool been thinking of? Didn't he have any sense at all?

Judging from the heat he suddenly felt on his fitting, the answer was no. And, while pain was different now that he was a clock, it still existed and Cogsworth couldn't stop himself from shouting when it got too hot.

Nursing his singed limb, Cogsworth was vaguely aware of Lumiere welcoming the man to the castle. As he watched the man's confusion over who had spoken and his efforts to locate Lumiere, Cogsworth could only wonder what would happen now. There was change in the air and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing at all.


End file.
